


You Terrible Thing

by General Jambalaya (RavagedRadio)



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Divergent Characters, Canon-Typical Violence, Deals, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, M/M, Multi, Other, Partners in Crime, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Valentino Monologues, Vox and Val say fuck a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavagedRadio/pseuds/General%20Jambalaya
Summary: So just who the hell is Valentino? Vox is about to find out.
Relationships: Valentino & Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 159





	1. Changes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jefwett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jefwett/gifts).



> This was written as a gift for my dear [TheLittleHatOfHorror.](https://twitter.com/tlhoh_artblog)
> 
> I've never written a fanfic before, but I wanted to give it a shot and write something special for her since our Valentino/Vox shenanigans never cease to inspire me.

_“We’re going to be legends you know. We’ll have every fuckin’ sinner in Hell licking our boots. Even Lucifer himself.”_

Valentino’s voice was smoky and graveled in all the right ways, boasting a smooth confidence that could make even the most pessimistic son of a bitch believe whatever poured out from that mouth. In retrospect, Vox had been pretty damn sure that if Valentino had told him in that moment that unicorns existed in Hell, he would have been inclined to believe him.  
  
It was at that moment it had all made sense. In less than ten nights, Valentino’s name had become notorious in Hell. His name had gone from essentially non-existent to one that most sinners wouldn’t dare breathe without good reason. He’d talked his way right into some of the deepest pockets in Hell, and reduced some of the most powerful drug lords to groveling, simpering cowards, smattered their blood across the floor with a single pull of the trigger. And he’d done it all in _style_. 

In fact, days before the newfound Overlord had sauntered his way right up to the prominent building of the recording studio where they’d agreed to meet, Vox had been keeping a careful watch on the man, curiosity sparked by the whispers that had been seeping out of every far-reaching source he had. The first footage he’d ever glimpsed of the man had been from one of his more unreliable CCTVs. Luckily, his irritation over the grainy surveillance footage didn’t last, smoothed over by the catchy tune of Earth, Wind & Fire’s ‘Shining Star’. Vox’s polished shoe tapped along to the music lifted from the security cam, watching as the incendiary known as Valentino danced his way through that rundown, blocklong warehouse as if he didn’t have a damn care in the world, as if two of his men weren’t strapping some poor groveling bastard into a metal chair.

One of those hired hands cinched the knots of the rope, laced with a silvery powder that rendered ‘any of that Blackstone bullshit’ useless. Those fluid dance moves then led Valentino's black, heeled boots right up to the restrained man, his lanky form ignoring all sense of personal space as the barrel of a fandango .45 was pressed right up against the thick, sweaty throat of a once powerful man now turned captive. Some big shot dealer who, up until that very moment, had snatched up everything he wanted in Hell, and then some.  
  
“Shhhhhh. Shh shh shh. Listen,” Valentino began.

Two of four sleek, ebony hands slipped into his coat to pull out a silver cigarette case, a third retrieving a flashy spectrum zippo. It was then flicked closed and tucked away, a deep pull from the filter taken.

“What are you afraid of, baby?” Gun was trailed up and over that misshapen chin, pushing it past jagged teeth and into the man’s blubbering mouth. “ We don’t _die_ , right? Not us. Na uh.”  
  
From behind a pair of ridiculous gold-rimmed, heart shades, Valentino’s amaranth gaze flickered over to the lifeless form laying face down in a stretching puddle of blood about ten feet away from them. A raspy laugh blew fuschia smoke over the face of his hostage, voice dropping an octave.

“Well. Except that guy. But not _you_. Naw. You’re a fucking king. You can handle anything and you don’t need anyone. So this isn’t really gonna be death. _Right?_ ” Gaze lifted to his hired hands, both standing as tall and broad as stacks of cinderblocks. “Right, Shax? Sweets?”  
  
“S’right boss. He don’t got nothing to worry about.” The two cronies shared a low, guttural chuckle as they humored their boss. “Nothin’ at all.”

“Nothin’ at all,” Valentino repeated those words sweetly, turning that sharp gaze on the man before him, or as sweetly as a mouth full of razor teeth could offer anyway.  
  
From around the pristine length of the firearm, Valentino watched as the man tongued that barrel right to his cheek, attempting to babble something halfway intelligible. Before he could even get so much as two syllables out, two slender black fingers had lifted in a gesture of silence, and the half-hearted negotiation attempt died in the man’s throat. His captor gave a pause, drew in a deep pull from the filter of his cigarette, then exhaled, glancing off thoughtfully before nodding along to the beat that echoed throughout the warehouse. Then with little warning, Valentino pointed a finger at the man, cigarette now inches from that flinching face as if he’d hit some sort of prophetic revelation.  
  
“ _I think_ …” He began, grin stretching wide across his features. “That you made all the _right_ choices! No regrets, right? So you didn’t want to sign in and take one on. You wanted to keep it aaaaall to yourself. Look. I get it, baby. No hard feelings.”  
  
A skeptical look flickered across the disgruntled face of the man held captive, his reply all vowels and muffled by a mouthful of cold steel. 

The deceptively forgiving, nigh-unbreakable grin on Valentino’s visage then slowly pulled into an irritated grimace, lip curling over those razor teeth. “But then… _Then_ you went and did something…” Another pause. A deep inhale. “.... _real stupid._ ”  
  
Valentino could see the man squirming uncomfortably in the chair he’d been bound to, he could _smell_ the light sheen of sweat and fear breaking over his body. 

“ _Then_ you just _had_ to go dippin’ in my Kool-Aid,” He carried on smoothly, roughly jerking the barrel against the roof of the sniveling mouth, dragging out a satisfying ‘ow’ from the man before him. “Cutting in on _my_ deals. Killing _my_ men? And shit, you didn’t even stop to say hello. Now that just wasn’t nice.” 

That lingering gaze is hard. Unforgiving.

“So tell me why I shouldn’t pull this trigger and gut your brains, sweetheart…?”  
  
More muffled noises. Had this guy actually started crying? Valentino grimaced. For fuck’s sake, there it was, one big fat tear rolling down that grimey fucking cheek. Now this was just sad. No. It was pathetic. Like an orphan, with no arms...or legs…  
  
Valentino veered his mind back to the current source of his problems.  
  
“Right,” The guy would need his mouth to answer. He rolled his eyes and pulled the gun from the man’s mouth with a flippant gesture and another pull of his cigarette. “Go ahead.” 

“Listen, listen!” The big sack of sad started stumbling over his words, and Valentino nodded along, brow forged with feigned sympathy for this sorry asshole. “You want money? I can get you the money, my car, I can even cut you an extra for the trouble—”  
  
“Oh man... This isn’t about money!” Valentino laughed. “You stupid fuck. Do I look like I care about the money? …Alright, yeah, I care a little but—” He tapped the side of that gun to the man’s head to punctuate his words, each time earning him a flinch. “Not. Everything. Is about. The money.” 

He waited a beat. Carmine eyes narrowed, daring the man to say anything. He doesn’t. Good.  
  
“Besides, after I paint these floors all nice and pretty with your blood, I’ll have it all. The money. The goods. That metal sled of yours you call a car. I don’t _need_ you. Shit, I don’t even remember your name. That’s how unimportant you are to me. And _that’s_ what you failed to understand the first time we met.” That cigarette was ashed against the man’s trousers. At some point the music had stopped. 

A glance over to his two flunkeys, cool as stone, but he could feel they were just as eager to savor this little moment as he was. They were two knuckle-heads, but they were reliable, likeable knuckle-heads. In fact, they really were starting to grow on him. His attention turned back to the man, with a light-hearted smile, as if the whole thing was nothing but one big joke.

“I mean shit... in a second here, you’re not even going to be a person anymore. You’re gonna just be…a thing. Some dead body. Bleeding out all over this floor. I don’t think they’re even gonna miss you in that rat hole of yours. So… You get it, right? Unless...”  
  
Unless?  
  
The man’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates, watery and hopeful. There it was, his little light at the end of the tunnel. What a goddamn beautiful sight.  
  
“Unless you wanna be partners.”  
  
“P-partners?”

“Yeah partners. We can put this whooole thing behind us. We make a few deals, share a few drinks. Laugh off the time I almost blew your fuckin’ brains out. Whadda ya say?”  
  
“You… a-are you fucking with me? I mean, fuck! Shit! Yeah! Yeah, I wanna be partners! Let me out of this and you’ll see, I’ll be the best damn friend you ever had!”

Hope and more hope. Hope gleaming through a smile full of teeth and it’s torn straight from ear to ear by the pull of a trigger, a silver bullet marring every last dream that man could have ever had. The body slumps against the confines to the chair and Valentino straightens, his own roguish smirk meeting his audience of two… Well, three. A glance over his shoulder, that obscured security camera met dead on with glowing scarlet eyes and a treacherous smile.  
  


“I was totally fucking with him.”  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


Hours later, Vox finds himself studying that footage, replaying it over and over. Even after Valentino and his goons had vacated the warehouse, Vox watches those bodies on the CCTV continue to bleed, unmoving. Fast-forward. The blood dries and not a muscle of movement.  
  
What the fuck.  
  
He leans back in his work chair, perplexed, drumming razor claws against the armrest. Maybe in the world up there, this wouldn’t have been a big deal. But this was Hell. And in Hell, people didn’t die from gunshot wounds. It just wasn’t that easy. You could bleed, sure. You could definitely _feel_ in Hell and it would still hurt like a bitch. And then you’d recover. Slowly, painfully maybe, but it would happen.  
  
But you wouldn’t die. You would never die. Vox had always been certain it was a way to make sure no one was able to find an easy way out of their punishments. Up until this point, the most prominent way out of Hell was marked by the heavy toll of an imposing clocktower, standing smack dab in the center of the city. That was what fixed the end of anyone’s time in Hell. Because aside from a small handful of powerful overlords (not counting Lucifer and Lilith), no one else had the privilege of permanently ripping the life from another in Hell.  
  
So what was it that made this different? There hadn’t been any hint of magic picked up, however his surveillance equipment wasn’t flawless. He’d have to send someone out later to check the location out for any lingering traces of it. 

But by the time all of that and more had been done, he was still left with more questions than answers and a burning curiosity to know more. 

This was what had led Vox to where he was now. Sitting adjacent to Valentino, the man himself, whose lean frame lounged comfortably against _his_ Devilani Trance red leather chaise lounge, a drink in one palm as if he owned the damn place. It was a strange feeling when a man could make you feel like a fucking stranger in a place that was practically your second home.  
  
Even if he hadn’t seen Valentino _permanently_ absolve not one but two men of their souls, that oh-so casual mention of Lucifer licking their boots was enough to send off the little alarm bells in Vox’s head. 

Valentino was dangerous. 

And yet, something about it all sparked his interest. It wasn’t just that the deal was good, better than good even. It was the way he spoke, the way he presented himself, it was there in every bold, cocksure mannerism. Valentino had a plan and knew exactly what he was doing. 

This silver-tongued son of a bitch.

“Fuck with me, and you’re going to regret it.” Vox warns.

“Only if you ask real nice.”

  
  
Bastard.

Jackass.

With everything Valentino had laid out, it was more than obvious that it was a plan that would not only benefit them both, but would also give Vox access to higher grounds of power and control. And if there was one thing Vox craved it was power. Unlike so many of the mouthy sinners in Hell, Valentino wasn’t all talk. He was the genuine article. 

A deal had been struck. 

It wasn’t like the deals he’d made with the poor pissants that he set up. This was way more than that. 

The second it had been made a whole slew of doors seemed to open up to Vox as Valentino made him privy to every little secret he’d unraveled. He comes around to join Vox on the couch and starts giving him the ins to everything he knows. He pulls out his revolver, undoes the cylinder and takes out a couple of the bullets, offering one over to Vox and sounding almost smug. 

“Copper jackets.” 

“So what?”

“Filled with…”  
  
Vox narrows his gaze and waits, but his patience gets the better of him.

“Filled with _what,_ jackass _?_ ”  
  
“Filled with the metal of melted down angel spears. To anyone else, they look like normal bullets but… A pull of the trigger and these babes fragment on contact, seeping the metal right into the veins.”

Vox leaned back, a slow exhale leaving him. So that was how he did it. It was damn clever, but somehow he’s almost surprised no one else had thought of it until now. 

“And that’s only the beginning.” Valentino’s words held promise. There would be more. So much more. Something deep inside Vox knew it too.

This was more than just some deal.

This was more than ephemeral.

This was a statement. 

This was a pact between equals. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for giving this a read and I really hope you guys are liking it so far. ♥
> 
> If you wanna catch more of what I do you can find me on Twitter [@NightExcision.](https://twitter.com/NightExcision)


	2. Welcome to Paradiso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to [MortemVeniet](https://twitter.com/MortemVeniet) for tossing ideas back and forth with me for the chapter title. ♥

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey what.”

“What’s good, bitch?”

Vox scowls, though his gaze fixates on the monitor in front of him, ignoring the far too friendly palm against the back of his chair. There’s nothing intimate about any of it. In the short time that he’s known this man, he’s learned that Valentino acts this way with everyone. 

“Last I checked we made a deal. You get your little stroll through the studios and I get left alone to work.”

Mark that as the fifth ‘deal’ they had made since the _deal_ deal _._ Hard to believe it had only been four shifts of the moon since then. But time in Hell moved differently. ‘Days’ and nights blurred together. Things were slower. More agonizing. 

Valentino hadn’t been in Hell nearly as long as Vox had. Nonetheless, if he noticed the dragging passage of time, he didn’t show it or make any mention of it. Vox did well to distract himself with endless amounts of work, which made it all the easier to ignore the sluggish rise and fall of the glowing red sphere that loomed in redder skies.

But lately, it felt like things were moving faster.

It was as if Vox woke up one day and suddenly Valentino was there.

Then he wakes up again and he can’t remember how many days it’s been.

Now he can’t remember what it’s like for Valentino _not_ to be there.

Valentino had that way about him. It was something in his attitude that made it feel as if he’d known the man for years. More eerily, it gave him the implication that Valentino had known _him_ for years. He couldn’t remember a time in this life or his previous life where he had met someone who could easily so speak the same language as him, someone who could read him from the inside out.

But Valentino wasn’t speaking the same language as him now. He was being a fucking menace. Vox had too much to do and shit wasn’t going to get itself done. 

“Yeah, I know I said I’d leave you alone. But I didn’t think that meant you were going to work for three fuckin’ days straight with your ass glued to this chair.”

_Had it been three days?_

“Besides I’ve got something you might want to hear.”

Vox had found that with Valentino, words like these always promised something either very good or very bad. He had his hands in so many honey pots that Vox was never quite sure what to expect. Something told him that wasn’t going to be changing any time soon. Valentino was an all-rounder. A jack-of-all-trades. He dealt in everything from drug stints to stupid shit like making his own _nail polish_. But of course it wasn’t just nail polish. It was never _just_ anything with him. Vox learned this after questioning Valentino’s investments the first time.  
  
Acetone peroxide. Valentino had answered, and Vox had nearly thought that was going to be the end of it, but Valentino had continued on. It was the main ingredient in nail polish, and it was easy enough to isolate. Or it could be left as is. Either way it would get the job done. Even as little as nine grams of the stuff straight could do plenty of damage, but mix said acetone with bleach and it would oxidize. 

Vox remembered being mildly impressed that Valentino had even _known_ the word ‘oxidize’. He’d never seen the man pick up a book and he sure as hell couldn’t imagine it. This was the same man that Vox had painstakingly explained the purpose of a router to. Yet there he was, opening door after door, each beholding a wealth of dangerous information. And all the while, that bedeviled, lazy smirk had been tugged on Valentino’s features, lean frame reclined comfortably against the bar counter in Vox’s penthouse while he casually slicked the brush of Rouge Avernus over a set of razor ebony claws. 

The man was some kind of goddamn idiot savant. 

Somehow it was part of his allure. It was also what made him dangerous. 

Valentino had then gone on to explain, in great detail, the process of mixing his satanic little cocktail. With the way he went over the amounts of the other seemingly innocuous ingredients involved, he might as well have been reading off a recipe for sugar cookies. Scratch that; Vox had been pretty damn sure by then that even something as pure as sugar cookies weren’t safe in the hands of Valentino. Because before long he wasn’t just looking at cases of _nail polish_ anymore. He was looking at the beginnings of highly volatile explosives. If done right, enough nail polish could take down the tallest skyrise in Hell if they wanted to. Done wrong and it was just an invitation for a very, very bad time.

But explosives made from nail polish were neither here nor now.

Vox’s claws coil in reflex as he feels his chair being forcibly spun around to be met to face the very bastard he’d lost his thoughts to moments ago. Right. Valentino had something to tell him. 

“So what is it, then?”

“I threw your intern off the roof.”

“You… fucking _what?”_

“Found out he was seepin’ some of your plans to a secondary source. Yeah. You’re welcome.”

Vox eased back into his chair again considerably, one of those eyes narrowed on Valentino in uncertainty. “....You’re sure?”

“Baby, do I look like someone who would kill a guy if I wasn’t sure?”

The words only redouble the skeptical look on Vox’s screen, one brow now pointedly arched.

“Relax. I was sure,” Valentino reassures him with a chuckle. “You want proof?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Still don’t trust me?” Valentino flashes him a predatory grin.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

Valentino laughs. “Damn. You ever been to a funeral, Vox? Cause that’s what you sound like right now.”

Vox’s abrupt attempt to swivel the chair back around to face his work is stopped, one of those large hands now holding said chair firmly in place. God... _damn it_. 

“What I’m saying is,” Valentino lowered his voice a touch, easy-going grin unwavering. “You look like you need to relax a bit. So I’m takin’ you out for drinks.”

“Maybe you didn’t notice, smart ass, but I can’t exactly _enjoy_ drinking.” Vox made a vague gesture to his own screen. “Besides, I’ve got too much shit to do.”

“First of all, you always have too much shit to do. That’s never gonna change. Second of all, just because you can’t taste shit doesn’t mean you can’t loosen up and have a good time. Anyway, I’m not leavin’ you alone until you do. All work and no play makes Vox a dull son of a bitch and all that.”

Vox knew that wasn’t an empty threat. He may have been stubborn, but Valentino was at least twice as stubborn as him.

“Fine, but we’re taking my car.”

“Yeah about that, the intern landed on your Chevelle.”

“ _What!?_ You did _not_ just tell me you threw the intern on my _fucking car!”_

Bastard grin, bastard laugh, bastard all the way through, as Valentino rose four palms up in mock surrender. In the short time he knew Vox, Valentino had gotten a rise out of that fiery temper more than a couple times and damn did he love it. Heels moved backwards in a casual saunter towards the door, with a snap-point towards the media demon.

“Meet me downstairs in five, sweet cheeks, or I’m hauling your ass down there myself.”

“The shit I put up with…” Vox muttered once Valentino was out of sight. He gave one last longing glance towards his work desk before turning off the monitors with an offhand flick of his claws. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out somewhere simply for the sake of pleasure and maybe that was a sign in itself.

Going out for a quick drink wouldn’t kill him.

  
  
  


They take Valentino’s ride to a little hole in the wall bar called Hellzapoppin. It’s dimly lit and there’s a warm hazy smoke hanging in the air. Valentino moves into the bar as easily as that smoke, giving off the demeanor that he owned the place with his presence alone. Vox shoves his hands in his pockets and follows along, taking in the drifting conversation and noise that manages to rise above the music and assail his system. They move fluidly through the crowd and settle into one of the more private booths. A lively cocktail waitron shows up almost instantly to take their drink orders.

“Get me a Between the Sheets, and…” Valentino pauses and makes an offhand gesture over at Vox.

“Anything’s fine.”

“A’ight. Get him a Slow Comfortable Screw Against a Wall.”

Vox’s stomach tightens immediately, along with every other muscle in his body. He doesn’t have to look over at Valentino, he can practically _hear_ the overly smug grin in his graveled voice. He shoots a pointed look over at the taller male, digital mouth curling, a glitch flickering briefly across one of the sharp corners.

“Why are you the worst ever?”

“You like me like that. Besides, you seem like you could use it. And I’m not talking about the drink.”

Vox can feel that penetrating gaze on him and he arches a brow, settling one of his arms against the back of the couch, his posture relaxed even if he felt anything but. 

“So what, I give you one of my studios to turn into a pornucopia of god knows what and now suddenly you’re the expert on _my_ sex life?”

This pulls another loud laugh from Valentino, and he leans in against the table with a grin like a loaded gun. Another arm drapes itself casually against the back of the booth behind Vox.

“Hey, I could be, who knows. Pretty sure I know more about you at this point than anyone else down here.”

“Yeah well, not everyone is as sex-obsessed as you are.”  
  
Something darts over Valentino’s features at the words and for a moment, Vox almost sees something more serious behind those heart-rimmed shades. Before the man can even open his mouth though, they’re interrupted by the server sliding their drinks over. Vox feels Valentino moving out of his space again, a large hand pushing a few bills over in return.

“Hang on, I got mine—” Vox interjects, moving to reach for his wallet. 

“Relax. I said I was taking you out, didn’t I?”

Vox hesitates, but finds he can’t argue. What had gotten into Valentino? He’d never seen him willingly offer to pay for anything, let alone turn down _someone else’s_ offer to pay. 

“Special occasion?” Vox ventures, attempting to keep himself from sounding too suspicious. It doesn’t get past Valentino and he knows it. There was very little that got past him. The man could pick up even the barest hint of a lie a mile away. At least he does Vox a favor by not mentioning it this time.

“Do I need a special occasion to get you to enjoy one night? Just one honest to god night out where you weren’t sitting around talking business and shit. You tell me when the last time was that you had something like that.”

Vox is quiet, his gaze drifting as neon claws curl around the drink in front of him. Despite what most people assumed, Vox was more than capable of indulging. That wasn’t the issue. The real issue was that he never really liked to drink or eat when others were watching. He’d only just recently eased up to the point where he felt comfortable enough to do so around Valentino. All that aside, it wasn’t going to change the fact that drinks wouldn’t taste like anything to him. Nothing ever did. Not since he ended up in this literal hell hole.  
  
When he's well and certain that everyone milling near to them had their attention elsewhere, he lifts the glass to his screen carefully. There was one thing you learned about being in Hell and it was that most things didn’t really follow the laws of physics like the world above did. For Vox, this was just another one of those things, and the once tangible liquid in his cup shifts to a strange little concoction of pixels as it's met with his screen, allowing him to swallow it down and get the meager satisfaction that it had to offer. The glass is set back down, now empty, leaving the vaguest lingering touch of a burn in his throat. Maybe he couldn’t taste the alcohol, but with enough of it, he’d at least be able to feel inebriated.  
  


“Shit, I bet you can’t even remember,” Valentino concluded from that silence before swiping his own drink to knock it back. A satisfied breath leaves him and he carries on. “Look. So far, the entire time I’ve known you, I haven’t really seen you get out and have much fun. I’m willin’ to bet it’s been like that for a pretty long time too. I know it’s Hell, but that doesn’t mean it has to be a fuckin’ drag. So tonight we’re changin’ that. Starting tonight, I’m gonna make sure you remember what it’s like to have fun every once in a while. Ya dig?”  
  
Vox finally shifts his attention back on Valentino. He can’t understand _why_ Valentino gives a shit about whether or not he gets a break every now and then. But maybe now that they were partners in crime so to speak, it did make sense for them to look out for their best interests. The better off that Vox was, the more it would benefit Valentino, and vice versa. Right. There was nothing special about it. They both went into things knowing full well that they were using each other to get what they wanted. Not everything had to have a hidden meaning behind it. So why couldn’t he help but feel like there was more to it all?

“What.... is this another deal? The fuck am I getting out of it then?” 

“Motherfucker, are you even listening to me? What about ‘you’re gonna have fun’ didn’t you get?”

Vox sighs and leans back, drumming claws against the back of his seat restlessly. It’s obvious that he’s trying to give off the impression that he’s composed, but Valentino can see the tension in him a mile away.

“What makes you so sure that—” 

“Trust me.”

Those two simple words that cut Vox off hold the same sway to them that he had picked up on during their first exchange. Brimming with devilish confidence that carved right into Vox with a silver-tongue. He might not have trusted Valentino, but for that fleeting moment… He almost wanted to.

  
  


Throughout the remainder of the night, their drinks are replaced and refilled and they dip into one conversation after the next with ease. Before long, Vox can actually _feel_ the warm inebriation of the alcohol, disposition markedly more relaxed and far less guarded than it had been before. It was going to take Valentino a while yet to get to that point, but he could still appreciate seeing Vox get there, especially since it was a side of the media overlord that he hadn’t seen yet. And what a sight it was. Valentino had known he’d been on the money when he’d made the bet that he could actually have a good time with the older demon.

“We should probably go, my ass is starting to hurt.”

“Yeah… I know. Just… One more drink.”

“Nah, nah, nah,” Valentino laughed. “One more drink and you’re going to spill it down your front and start an electrical fire.” He paused, thoughtful for a moment. “Which I mean... that would be hot but—”

“Fuckin—! Stop!” Raucous, glitchy laughter leaves Vox as he bows over the table to press his screen against an arm, his shoulders shaking in amusement. Valentino grins as if he’s just pulled off the impossible. When Vox manages to settle himself, that wise cracking grin is brightly on display. “Is that how you took down Grimes and his flunkies? Ran them off with your shiiiitty jokes?”

“Aw fuck, you know my secrets now? That’s dangerous, slick.”

“Ain’t that a bite?”

“You still don’t know the best ones though.”

“Wassat?”

“You wanna know? Then work for em, baby,” Valentino grins and winks, then moves to stand, a large ebony palm pressed against the table. “C’mon, let’s blow this taco stand. But just so you know this was just a taste. Next time, I’m taking you on a night out in the town and we’ll really tango.”

“Wait, wait.... Wait.”

“Que pasa?"

“Why are you... so...fucking tall?”

“Why are you so fucking short, short stack?”

“Hey... how DARE you.” Glitches flickered on Vox’s irate expression, one of his fingers jabbing right against Valentino’s chest, but this only caused the taller man to laugh. Valentino draped an arm around Vox casually, if only to make sure the idiot didn’t end up falling over. 

He led them through the crowd with relative ease, though along the way he did have to physically drag Vox away from nearly trying to duke it out with a demon twice his size. According to Vox, the asshole had (but absolutely hadn’t) pushed him. 

“Y-Yeah scram, you fucking dumb Dora!” Vox managed to tear out, the sound of a couple switching channel frequencies marring his words.

“Hey cool it, cheese weasel,” Valentino managed between laughs, pushing open the door, stopping in his tracks as he held a palm up to Vox’s chest to keep him from moving any further.

“Hold up. We’ve got trouble.”

Vox isn’t quick to take him seriously. Not when they’ve been turning everything into a joke the whole night through. But one glance ahead and even in his drunken state he sees it, _feels_ it right down in his core.

“....Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Valentino doesn't speak Spanish, but he's picked up a few words and phrases here and there.
> 
> AW YEAH. Another chapter done! Really hope you guys liked this.  
> Hey by the way, if you guys wanna follow more of my shenaningans and art stuff you can find me [@NightExcision](https://twitter.com/NightExcision) on Twitter.


	3. Lowdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains math formulas.

A chill runs through Vox as he stands under the awning of the bar, heavy sheets of rain pouring down in front of them. 

“It’s pretty heavy,” Valentino murmurs, his voice more serious than it had been only moments before. There was a touch of something else there as well, but Vox couldn’t quite place it. Especially not in his inebriated state. “You’re not goin’ out in that. Hold up.”  
  
Before Vox can object to anything, Valentino has already pulled out his phone to get in contact with what Vox could only assume was his driver. He slumps back against the brick wall to wait, gazing out into the steady pour. It only takes a few moments and the driver from earlier pulls up to the curb in front of them, quickly getting out of the vehicle to come offer safe passage by way of an opened umbrella.

  
“Watch it.” Valentino warns the driver, grabbing Vox around the shoulders, abruptly pulling him closer so they could both fit beneath it.  
  
Once inside the limo and untouched by so much as a drop of rain, Valentino slides over to his seat, lounging back comfortably. Vox practically crawls over to one of the seats off to the side and slumps into it, a goofy little grin lingering on his stupid drunken face.  
  
“...What?” Val narrows his eyes once he catches sight of it.  
  
“You were _worried_ about me.”  
  
“The fuck do you think? I don’t exactly want to be taking you home as a fried toaster after everything else tonight.”  
  
Vox couldn’t help but laugh outright at that. “I wouldn’t have been a toaster.”  
  
“Whatever, you would’ve fried one way or another.”  
  
“That’s what you think.”  
  
“Pretty sure that’s what I know.”  
  
“Naah... I wouldn’t have. Like...yeah.. _sure_ I guess. Weather like that can cause a _little_ interference sometimes, but…” Vox lifted a clawed hand, gesticulating aimlessly as he tipped his monitor up towards the ceiling of the limo and began to ramble. “It also helps currents travel further and stronger. I mean it doesn’t work with totally _pure_ water because PURE water doesn’t actually conduct electricity, you know since it doesn’t have free electrons? But that shit’s like….super fuckin’ rare to find outside a lab. All water has some sort of mineral or sediment in it, it ionises water molecules, allowing them to conduct current, like shit especially salt water? That’s the biggest current conductor, but unless you’re by the ocean, you’re not gonna get a lot of salinity in rain like the rain out there. Anyway, it’s the water with free ions that conducts electricity and the lightning charges I can emit. Oh, but if it has too much? Actually the electrical current could just essentially ignore flesh bodies in the water and find other paths to conduct itself so it’s really a give or take but usually? What I’m saaaying is…. It’s a fuckin playground out there for me, Val.”  
  
Valentino was silent, jaw lax before he effectively snapped it shut and spoke out in awe. “Holy _shit_ you’re a nerd.”  
  
Vox tilted his monitor back towards Val, those digital eyes blinking slowly before he fell into a buzzing fit of laughter. “Shut the fuck up, I’m….I’m ffuckin’ serious.”  
  
“Nah, I believe you… Just..” Val eased back into his seat again, realization dawning on him. Vox really was just as dangerous intellectually as he was. “Always thought water fucked you up. That’s all.”  
  
“Yeah. Lot of people think that. I’ve taken more than a few assholes off guard that way.” Vox lids his eyes, smug smirk in place.  
  
“Good to know.” Valentino is quiet for a moment, the gears in his mind turning over this new information as he watches Vox. Carmine eyes then narrow to viper-like slits as he sits up and slinks over fluidly, draping himself right into the seat beside the media overlord. A nasty grin stretches its way across his visage, arm slipping around Vox as he leans in. “Hmmm. You know what, Vox baby… You and me are goin’ on a little pleasure cruise.”

  
  
  
  


The next morning Vox is greeted with two problems. The first being that his mind is going to split right out of his monitor from how much it throbs with pain. Somehow he accomplishes an escape from the impossible jumble of blankets he’s trapped in, clumsily dragging himself out of the...bed? His bed. Since when did he ever sleep in his own bed? In most cases, he usually just leaned back in whatever chair or couch he was settled in at the moment. He could catch some rest here and there like that when he needed it, but even that was rare. 

He shambles his way over to the penthouse kitchenette, and for the first time in what feels like years, he fixes himself up a pot of coffee and picks up his Vokia to order himself something he can shove in his system to quell his nausea. 

He’s halfway through punching in the number when his second problem greets him, by way of a familiar chime from the phone in hand. Tired, narrow eyes look down at the murky green screen, the bitmap font reading the _[1 new message]_ alert that blinked up at him.

_Valentino: Today at 3pm. Abyss landing. Don’t forget or you can kiss the Camaro goodbye._

What... the fuck? What the _hell_ was that supposed to mean? An irate growl slipped from his vocals, dragged past grimacing teeth as he shot a text back.

_Wdym?? What’s going on?_

_  
_ The ping of an immediate message returned to him the second he hit send.

  
  
_This is an automated message. Your message could not be sent because the recipient's inbox is full. Please try again later._

His attempts to call went unanswered and Vox resisted an urge to groan, sighing out his frustration instead. He had _just_ gotten that Camaro. And now Valentino was threatening it over some bullshit that he couldn’t even remember? His tired gaze flicked over at the innocuous little display in the corner of the phone catching sight of the time, those sharp sanguine eyes staring hard at it.

2:21PM.

  
_Two-fucking twenty one PM._ _  
_ _  
_ Oh. _Oh._

“Oh _no,_ no, no, no, no, SHIT! Shit!” Vox shoves his phone in his pocket and slams down his mug of coffee clumsily in his mad dash to attempt to get it on the counter. He rushes across the penthouse, a curse leaving him as he hits his leg against one of the side tables. He catches himself and stumbles to an overly large window, both hands and his screen pressed up against the glass, panicked eyes flicking back and forth, searching the streets below for where his camaro had been parked.  
  


“That stupid… fucking… son of a bitch! I’m going to _kill him._ I’m going to fucking _krrzzt!--_ kill him, I swear I’m going to kill him.” Vox rattled out, words hitching with angry crackling and muffled against the pane of the window before he quickly pulled himself away. Heart racing and mind well beyond disoriented and scrambled, he manages to swiftly stalk over to his closet where he yanks a few things out, tears off his rumpled clothing from the night before, and hastily gets himself dressed in something appropriate. Dangerous claws angrily tug over his tie as he fixes it, growling out to himself all the while.  
  
“That’s right. Want to fucking look _good_ when I tear his throat out right? Right. Teach him to get above himself like that, teach him to mess with my fuckin’ rides like this is some sort of midnight auto supply. Yeah fuck you, Val.”  
  
  


Vox not having his _own_ car to drive like a maniac to the meeting spot meant some nobody sinner ended up wrenched away from the nearest cab so that Vox could shove himself in the back instead and tell the cabbie to drive like his life depended on it. Which it absolutely did. 

As the car lurches forward, Vox’s body is on pins. He doesn’t just hate public transport, he _loathes_ it. It’s always the worst way to travel. The seats are annoyingly springy and uncomfortable, the floor is littered with crumbs, and something white and unsightly is spattered on the back of the seat in front of him. Holes have been punctured in the cheap leather and Vox can’t keep himself from staring angrily at the pair of obnoxious pastel fuzzy dice swaying from the rear mirror as the ride jostles him to and fro. The symbolism is fitting at least. The engine rattles like a bunch of rocks in a can, and the tires shriek with every unruly turn. It’s no secret that getting in a shitty ride like this was a gamble. With the way the driver constantly hits the brakes and accelerates, there’s no time for any sight-seeing unless he starts feeling a need for a tour of his own upchucked insides all over the already filthy floor mats.

But it doesn’t matter how fast the driver goes, it still doesn’t feel fast enough for Vox. His teeth grit tightly, claws adding to the collection of holes in the upholstery, and his mind is desperately rushing itself with arithmetic to distract himself from the heaving of his own stomach. That’s it. Just think of formulas. This was fine. This was just one of those story problems.

For example, if this shitty Ford Mustang left his Media Studio at 2:38PM, and his destination is 20 miles away, then what is the average speed the driver has to drive to reach the destination on time so as not to end up trapped inside his own burning vehicle? Vox’s temper is 58% more uncontrollable than the average sinner. Add this to the fact that Vox’s anger with Hell’s most prominent pimp (A) has been multiplied by the probability of his Camaro being driven off the Abyss Pier (B), then multiplied by the time spent travelling (C). A times B times C equals X.

Which means the probability of Valentino dying tonight (X) is 83%. 5 out of 6. The possibility of this outcome is as simple as a roll of a disgustingly pastel fuzzy die.

So it’s not luck that the driver gets Vox to the pier on time. It’s all calculated. The media overlord swiftly exits the dump of a vehicle and slams the door, already pulling out a 9mm handgun he had tucked in the belt of his waistband. It’s loaded with Valentino’s special brand of bullets, each one boasting an angel spear jacket. The irony of putting a hole in Valentino with one of his own bullets only makes the idea more appealing to Vox.

He can already spot Valentino, casually lounged up against _his_ car at the end of one of harbor ports, without a damn care in the world. Vox aims that gun right at Valentino’s stupid head as he strides over angrily. The smug fucking grin on Valentino’s face only pisses him off more. It doesn’t matter that his baby is safe. No. He’s still tired, angry and he’s had a jarring drive over that has scrambled his organs and forced him to smell old crumbs of stale chips and dried traces of god knows how many semen demons. It didn’t help that one of those shitty little trees had been hanging in the car, leaving him feeling like he was being assaulted by a god damn pine tree the entire ride over. Fuck you, Royal Pine.  
  
He thrusts out his other hand, keeping the gun leveled once he gets within speaking distance.  
  
“What the _fuck_ is your problem, Val?! Can’t you just fucking chill out for one day?? One day! Give me...the keys... _now_ .”  
  
“I’ve been chillin’. I was chill.” Vox can still hear that grin in the other man’s voice. The fucker _knew_ what he was doing.

“Been _chill_ ,” Vox sneers mockingly, yanking the keys and pocketing them the second Valentino dangles them in front of him. The angle of the handgun doesn’t waver.  
  
Valentino sighs and pushes himself away from the car, strolling over until the barrel is pressed flush right up against his own chest. His voice dips low and soft, his gaze locked on Vox’s own. “C’mon baby, don’t break my chops over it. Just knew it was the best way to get your attention. Nothin’ else was gonna get you here.”

Vox gives him a long hard stare, razor-sharp teeth bared and features tense. But Val is right and he knows he’s right. Asshole. With a low hiss, he reluctantly lowers the gun and tucks it back under his button up. He has no idea how Valentino can come off looking so attractive in everything he does. The man is bald and as skinny as a Halloween skeleton. And yet there’s just this draw about him. Not to mention he has that way with words that gets him any damn thing he wants. 

“Why are we here?” Vox asks, finally taking in their surroundings as he drops his guard, turning from Valentino so he can take out a cigarette and light up an attempt to ease his nerves. He pulls a deep inhale from the filter. The area around them is dense with fog, the sound of crimson water laps over the docks, and the air is thick with the familiar stench of death. Aside from shipment cargos and rusted containers, there really isn’t much to look at.  
  
“You really don’t remember shit do you?” Valentino clicks his tongue as he comes up beside the media overlord, plucking the smoke from his hand and helping himself to a pull from the filter before casually offering it back. Vox takes the cigarette, unperturbed at this point. “There’s been a rumor around Cosmik that some fish face named Zor has been getting arms shipments. Had word sent that we’d show up with ten G for it.”  
  
“Ten??”  
  
“Relax, we’re not giving them shit.”

“How do you figure that?”  
  
One of those slender arms wraps its way around Vox’s shoulders and Valentino can feel the subtle tension there and he gives that shoulder a squeeze. “I figure that cause I got my ace deuce here. We’re gonna hijack their shipment, make quick work of him and his thugs and take it for ourselves.”

“You say that like it’s nothing.”  
  
Valentino moves to steer the other around to face the end of the harbor again so that Vox is facing the vast cardinal sea before them, the water breathing with the rise and fall of that rhythmic surface. Suddenly, it all clicks together for Vox. Count on his rattled state of mind to miss something so fucking obvious. Eyes widen a bit, a sharp grin swiftly flickering across his screen.

Valentino gave a little snap of his fingers just below Vox’s screen, another arm extending to gesture and encompass the entirety of a potential bounty in their very near future. “ _Yeaah_ , you get it _now_ don’t you, baby? It’s like you said. It’s gonna be a _playground_ out here for us.”

“Alright... Shit. Yeah. I get it now. But I’m still shooting you after all this is done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting so patiently for this chapter. Things have been a little crazy on my end and I've been juggling a lot, but I feel pretty happy with how this turned out at least. I really hope it was worth the wait. ♥
> 
> Feel free to follow me over at [@NightExcision](https://twitter.com/NightExcision) if you wanna see more of what I do.


End file.
